


I Call Shotgun

by masterofstars



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Collegestuck, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Shotgunning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-25 07:18:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6185623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masterofstars/pseuds/masterofstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was never a question you ever expected to hear from him. It was always complaints. About the smell, the smoke, the ‘health problems’ it would cause them both. The guy was strung up higher than anyone could ever guess. Then again, not everyone saw him as much as you did, not as intimately as you did, considering you’d shared the dorm room with him for months now.<br/>_______________________________________________________________<br/>theyre gay. and in college. fin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Call Shotgun

“...Can I try?”

It was never a question you ever expected to hear from him. It was always complaints. About the smell, the smoke, the ‘health problems’ it would cause them both. The guy was strung up higher than anyone could ever guess. Then again, not everyone saw him as much as you did, not as intimately as you did, considering you’d shared the dorm room with him for months now.

Damian Strider, or as he liked to call himself, D Strider had to be the only guy you’d ever met that was as weird as you. You had a lot of differences, yes (he kept his side of the room spic and span, yours was a chaotic clutter of your belongings; he studied meticulously while you barely tried to pass any class; he kept himself controlled at parties, you went all out wild without a care), but you definitely had your similarities. Neither of you knew what the concept of an actually healthy sleep cycle was. Midnight, 2 am, 5 am. It didn’t matter, you and him were always up at ungodly hours doing different bullshit, but highly aware of one another. He got your jokes. And not just like other people. He didn’t just nod and laugh at your stupidly obscure humor. He /understood/. He spit out his drinks, burst out laughing, added on as flawlessly as ever, never skipping a beat. He had the same music taste, he didn’t question your wardrobe since his could be just as bizarre at times. 

He was honestly the closest thing you had to a best friend.

So, late that evening with the sun casting the room in oranges, reds, and golds, you hadn’t expected him to pipe up like that. It wasn’t uncommon. A lot of evenings were spent with him on his bed, reading some book- textbook or other-, and you on your bed rolling and smoking blunts while scrolling your phone, lounging on your laptop, whatever. 

Never once had he shown any interest in it other than a scoff and disapproving look. Yet now he was sitting up, looking at you curiously, as if he was nervous at what you would say. But not exactly. Really, his expression was as blank as ever. Anyone else probably wouldn’t have caught the way his lips just barely curved down at the corners or how his posture was a little too straight to be normal. But you understood. You both had your cues, even if they were minimal.

“...Sure. Come on over.” Texan twang sunk into your voice, you patted the spot next to you that he filled up gratefully. “You ever done this before?”

“Once. At a party, but it was horrible.” And his voice, not exactly tight but training himself to loss his own accent. When you’d first moved in with him it was stronger, but it was vanishing slowly.

“Ya probably did it wrong. We’ll do it an easy way.” 

You’d done it enough times before that it was easy. Taking in a drag, you hold it in your mouth. Your free hand, leather clad and warm, comes up and brushes his cheek carefully just to see if it was okay (you feel him almost flinch, but he doesn’t comment), before you hold his chin still and lean in. For a second he looks surprised and you’re sure he thinks you’re going to kiss him, since his lips part, but as your own mouth opens and you blow the smoke out, it seems to click in his head.

And then he’s drawing it into his own lungs. You can see him wanting to cough, easy to see with his aviators placed over on his desk and his eyes watering. “Go ahead man, cough if ya need to. We can do it again.” 

So he does, his hand tightening on your bed covers as he chokes on the smoke for a moment or two. Watching him is kind of amusing, but you hold back you laugh, since you know if you let it out he’ll think you’re patronizing him. He’s already got a faint tint of red on his cheeks. Wow, his fair skin reeeally didn’t so much to help hide even a small blush like that. 

“Again. I’ll get it this time.” He sounds so sure of himself that you can’t help but let the smallest of grins cross your face. 

This time he knows what to expect- knows what he’s doing. His mouth is already open as you lean in and for a second you almost get distracted by it. Cheeks flushed, eyes half lidded with how he’s looking down instead of at you. before you open your own move you feel his arm come up to hold onto you side, as if to pull you closer. Well... you aren’t opposed to it. The smoke flows into his mouth and he breaths it in soft. The sound is kind of nice when you’re this close really. 

Maybe it’s that you’re high. Maybe it’s because you’ve thought about it before, but before he closes his mouth to trap the smoke there you close the inch or so of space between the two of you. Your lips mold to his and you can physically feel how he tenses. But you don’t wonder whether it was the wrong thing to do. Your own amber, framed with red eyes are on his as they widen. You press just a little more and holy shit the smoke comes out of his nose when he exhales and somehow while you’re kissing him it’s the hottest thing. 

It only takes a few seconds for him to relax into it and then he’s all for it. Almost more eager than you. By the way he looks at you, you’re sure your own cheeks are adorned in the blush of the century, making your freckles pop on your tanned skin. Hell, it might even be down your neck. Hell if you know. All you know is he’s so eager to kiss you back and when you part he’s breathless. You are too, but you don’t acknowledge it. Neither does he. You both just sit for a moment and stare at each other before his voice ends the silence.

“Again.”

 


End file.
